Post Apocalypse Log
by MaplePucks
Summary: Father Death has claimed all of humanity. We are the only ones left, hiding in the UN Headquarters so lovingly given to us by the remaining humans after they cut our ties with the land. I fear it's only a matter of time before Father Death comes to collect what is long over due. *Diary style Fic based on the Plague Inc. game. Language, angst themes*
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there! I wanted to try something different with this fic. It's going to be a series, I have an idea of where I want to take it from here. I got this idea while watching a youtuber names SSundee play Plague Inc. Truly it's a more terrifying game then Five Night's at Freddy's.  
**

 **And I'm doing it diary style after one of my favorite post apocalypse books. Nuclear War Diary by James E. Sanford, Jr. It's awesome, very 80's, end of cold war nuclear fear type stuff. It's an amazing book. Very different, very awesome.**

 **Anyway, comments and suggestions for improvement are always welcomed! ^^**

* * *

 _World Status: Post Apocalypse_

 _Current Location: UN Headquarters, Europe_

 _Log Entry: #001_

Humanity is in ruins.

Alright, I suppose that's a bit of a dramatic start, that's something the Frog might write. But, sadly it does ring true.

Perhaps about a year ago, maybe longer a virus started sweeping the world. Sources said it started in India, but it couldn't be confirmed. Either way, it was named Strain 665 in the laboratories and was though to be as harmless as the common cold. The early symptoms were just as innocuous. However, as it started evolving and infecting the population, it became clear it was much more deadly.

The common people started referring to it as Father Death when the first million died.

To their credit, scientists around the world worked non-stop on cure when we realized it was deadly. My own nation, United Kingdom, led the charge. We even canceled the Summer Olympics we were hosting, redirecting those funds into a cure. But it wasn't enough. Despite our best efforts, all of humanity was infected. Every last human, including us personified nations became infected.

I speculate that's when the virus mutated. Almost as if it knew it was primed to destroy humanity. It was terrifying.

Harmless symptoms, such as coughing and sneezing became so severe, we ran out of quarantine space to house them all. Other symptoms started showing up, vomiting, dysentery, blindness. Drugs were no longer effective against it. Scientists just couldn't keep up with the mutations Strain 665 was undergoing.

Then, people started dying. Thousand's a day. Ten thousand a day. Hundred thousand a day. It was mind boggling to think about and we could only stand there and watch as insanity and anarchy began to take over the world. The cure effort's were abandoned after the key lab was exploded by an overworked, anemic and sleep deprived scientist.

We nations tried our utmost to keep our respective government's running. For some, there was nothing that could be done. Norway, Sweden and the Baltic's were sent spiraling into anarchy so quickly, no one could have stopped it. Asian nations held on strong, they were the last to collapsed fully while all of North and South America was ravaged by riots and looters. Canada, America and Mexico all fled to the relative safety of Europe.

When the human population dwindled down to under three hundred thousand, those world leaders left came to us nations. It was time to sever the ties that bound us to the land itself. It wouldn't make us mortal, as we were never humans to begin with but it would lessen the effects of Father Death for us somewhat as we wouldn't be so connected to our people. It's a big ritual type ceremony I won't bore you with as there is no point now, but almost as soon as it finished, we began to feel better. It was a weight lifted off our chest.

A bittersweet feeling indeed. We were still infected but it would longer to kill us. We don't know if we had months, years or centuries left. Truly, I think this was the last cruel act the humans could inflict on us, topping all the wars they had ever put us through.

I suppose you could say as a consolation prize, they gave us the European UN Headquarters in Geneva, Switzerland. For a bunker, for a base. For our home until Father Death finally comes to claim us. I don't know, but for now, all the nations that could make it to Europe over the devastation are now living here under the same roof. There are many of us, I would say at one hundred, I haven't bothered to count. It's selfish of me to point out but at least my family is here.

From hence-forth, I will no longer use our nations names in this log to identify us as we are no longer attached to the land. I will use our human names.

I am Arthur Kirkland, formerly known as the nation of England.

This log will be left in the common area of our new home. Any persons present are allowed to contribute.

Many of us present saw the birth of written history. It seems only fitting that we should be around to write its last few lines.


	2. Jacque

**Hello all! I thought I'd update this one for this weeks upload! Short and sweet but advances my narrative quite a bit!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _World Status: Post Apocalypse_

 _Current Location: UN Headquarters, Geneva, Switzerland_

 _Log Entry: #010_

Something rather unexpected has interrupted daily life here in our new home. A human showed up on our doorstep last night. Ravaged with Father Death, poor bloke is on his last reserves of stamina and will power. There's nothing more we can do for him except give him comfort in his eleventh hour and share what little we have.

We've deduced he is French, though he can hardly speak what does come out of him is jumble of French words and phrases. France—pardon, Francis, is with him now, translating for most of us. Of course, I do know French and have offered Francis a break from the stench filling the room but the ruddy Frog won't hear of it. It's his duty, he says, to stay with the man until he passes. I suppose I can honor that, though it odd to here Francis of all people talk about duty and honor. I suppose an apocalypse changes everyone.

Most of us, myself included, are scared of the way our visitor looks. More to the point, terrified over the damage Father Death has wrought upon his body. His skin has decayed to an awful greenish black and when he is touched by anything, he whines and screams in agony. We've had to be very careful not to move him when we give him water. His eye's have gone blind, glazed over and glassy. I would say he hasn't seen a thing in months, it was sheer accident that he should arrive here. The poor lad has lost all his fingernails and hair, along with any teeth he had in his mouth.

To be blunt, he looks long past dead though he continues to draw breath.

It has of course gone unspoken among us but the look on everyone's faces is clear. Before we ever get to that point, most of us will take our life into our own hands. Lying there in pain and barely able to speak is not how I will end my story.

* * *

Francis has learned that our visitor's name is Jacque, and he is indeed a Frenchman from Southern France, where he use to be a vineyard owner. He related his story, though his interrupter that he though he was safe on is isolated vineyard. But he said somehow, though he made no contact with another human, he contracted the virus anyway. Jacque guesses that it might have been in the water supply or somehow in his grapes that he started to eat off the vine. I don't know how true that is, or if that's how it happened but it doesn't matter now. He was infected and traveled to Paris for aide. When he arrived, Paris was overrun by anarchy and he fled with the rest of us.

He isn't sure how he arrived here, on our front door step in Switzerland. But he says he is glad, he may now die among friends. I believe that sentiment has hit Francis rather hard, he's lost that annoying chipper optimism he had when we first arrived. I don't like it.

Sadly, I don't think our new friend will make it through the night. Francis has tried his best to make Jacque as comfortable as he can.

* * *

Today we must bury Jacque. He died in the night, with Francis at his side. It wasn't peaceful at all, I heard him screaming and crying in agony. Alfred tried to help but Francis told him to get away, that he would see his citizen through to the end. Noble on his part, but I can't help but to wonder what sort of effect this will have on the sensitive Frog somewhere down the line. No good or reassurance has come from this experience. It has only solidified what we already knew. We are doomed, no matter our fate, to a painful lonely death.

I am glad that we did provide some comfort to him in his dying hours but I wish Jacque had never come. Though we saw the world and our own nations fall to the disease, seeing Jacque die has made it all too real and personal. The mood and atmosphere in our little bubble of humanity has dimmed and soured. We all feel it now and we all hate the humans just a little more then we did. We still don't know if we have years or decades left to live.

Time will tell but I can promise this right now. My life will not end with a scream.


	3. Birds no Longer Sing

_World Status: Post Apocalypse_

 _Current Location: UN Headquarters, Geneva, Switzerland_

 _Log Entry: #042_

It has been a month since we have buried our only human visitor, Jacque.

Francis lead the ceremony, well, little gathering we had out in the courtyard. Both Ludwig and Alfred had toiled without complaint to dig a deep grave by some flower bushes for several hours. They were tired, dirty and smelled of wet, rotted earth but they stayed to see Jacque laid to rest. Matthew and I lowered him into the grave whilst Francis threw in the first shovel of dirt. Many nations had come to watch. Out of intrigued, morbid curiosity or something else drawing them to it I'll never know.

I think it meant a great deal to Francis that people even came. Though I can not say I'm surprised, I am a little concerned about just how quickly Francis was able to form an almost familial bond with Jacque. I'm worried for my friend and his sanity.

He conducted the whole ceremony in beautiful French. Unfortunately, he would not allow Matthew or my self to translate it for the others, why I'm not certain because it was truly eloquent and lovely, as I'd expect nothing less from him. Even so, Francis was able to produce tears from everyone. And we hardly knew Jacque! Perhaps we weren't crying just for him but all of the humans. Who can say?

I write all of this now because I can't believe it's been a month. There's been an odd feeling hanging in the air since we've buried him. I'm not sure if the others can sense it, if they can they aren't mentioning it. Something foreboding, other then our appending doom.

Honestly, it feels as if death has lingered and is hovering in the corner, waiting to strike again. Maybe I'm just being silly. Yes, I hope so. I need to turn my focus on others things.

Francis needs me more then I think he ever has right now, even if he won't admit it.

* * *

No, I was not being silly. There is definitely something wrong here.

Matthew AND Alfred both confessed to me that they felt something was in the air, a mood shift as they called it. Now, if it had been just Matthew to tell me this, I would have said they both of us were just being oversensitive to things in our quarantine. But the fact that Alfred of all people has picked up on it too, my suspicions are correct. Even Ludwig came to tell me that Feliciano was feeling uneasy. Feliciano! I'm starting to get very worried and not just over that.

Francis hardly talks to anyone now. He is like a shell of his old self. I can't say I like the new him. I wish for my old friend back. There were plenty of times back then that I would have given anything for him to just shut up and stop talking. But now, I find myself longing for our usual banter. Call me Black Sheep of Europe, Tea Drinker, Eyebrows, something! I've tried to provoke things. I've called him a bastard, wine loving snob, fobbish twit, Fancy Pants. Everything I could think of but none have sparked that old fire and fight in us.

I'm mourning for a friend who is still here in flesh and blood.

Alfred has told me that we should not give up on Francis, that there's a way to draw him back out, we just have to find it. Damn Alfred and his eternal optimism.

I don't share it.

* * *

Everyone now avoids the courtyard, with the exception of one. Francis, please can anyone talk some sense into you?

As for the courtyard, where we have Jacque buried it is, really indescribable. Death is not only lingering, it's waiting. It's wanting to strike again. It's horribly oppressive, suffocating. I won't go out there. I can't breath in the open. There is also the remnants of Jacque foul stench rising from the ground. No amount of flowers can cover that. That combined with the feeling that I might die if a linger too long, I can't bring myself to go out there.

I wish Francis would share this sentiment.

Every day, Francis takes a flower out to him. Where he finds them, I'm not sure, perhaps another garden somewhere but it's always the same. A single rose. He sits out there for hours, talking in French to the grave that can't hear him or understand it's affect that's is being wrought on my friend. I hate this. I want him back, I want my friend to be alright!

I sorely wish Jacque had never stumbled into our midst. We should have turned our backs instead of allowing him the kindness the humans denied us.

* * *

I'm not sure what else to do. I'm at my wits end. I feel like we should hold a funeral for Francis. I've lost him, he won't speak to me. He rebuffs Matthew at every turn, not even Gilbert or Antonio can get a laugh or word out of him. Alfred hasn't given up, exactly, but he ignores Francis while telling me not to lose hope. Hypocrite.

He's out there now, of course. Talking to the only person he finds solace in. I've listened in without his knowledge before coming to write this. I expected, perhaps wanted him to be saying eloquent things. Philosophies of life. Something. But no, Francis is out there, telling the mound of dirt how lovely the weather seems to be in our little shelter. Telling a corpse that the sun is shining. That he doesn't know where the birds have vanished to but that he is sure they are singing somewhere, happy and free.

Birds and weather! Nothing more important then that! He is causing me heartache and pain for nothing more important then birds and weather. Right now, I feel so betrayed.

He can curl up and die with Jacque for all I care. That might make him happiest-

Scream! Some is screaming! It sounds like…

No.

Fran-


End file.
